


Mistaken identity

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Misunderstandings, Protective Thorin, Protectiveness, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An awkward friend brings out young Thorin's protective side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistaken identity

Market day in Dale was always a cheerful sight. Tented stalls lined the main square, where vendors displayed their colorful wares, from fresh fruits and vegetables to toys to clothing and jewelry. The streets were filled with men and dwarrow alike, stopping to exchange well-met-neighbor greetings and discuss business and the weather and the latest gossip as they went about their shopping. 

You were usually among the crowd of dwarves who made the short journey to Dale on market day from your home in the Lonely Mountain, where King Thror ruled over the greatest of dwarven strongholds, and on this bright afternoon, your basket was nearly filled with fresh loaves of bread, the last of the summer strawberries, beeswax candles, a jar of raspberry jam, and a vibrant blue shawl you’d been unable to resist at the weaver woman’s table. Just after considering and rejecting some potatoes that had too many sprouts for your liking, you looked up from the vegetable stand to see a familiar face.

He stood at the end of the row of stalls, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his head cocked to the side, watching you: Prince Thorin, grandson of the King and future heir to the throne of Erebor. He was bold, brave, devastatingly handsome, and currently wearing the gleam in his eye that he reserved for you.

A smile crept over your face, and you turned to walk toward him, mindful of every sway of your hips, and of the smirk that told you he was paying attention to them as well. You gave your hair a little toss, making the bead at the end of your braid that proclaimed you the chosen love of the heir of Durin glint in the sunshine. His blue eyes sparkled appreciatively, his face brightening with a dazzling smile, and you had just passed the poulterer’s stand when your vision was suddenly obscured by two beefy hands covering your eyes, and a singsong voice crooned, “guess who?” in your ear.

Reflexively, you swung your basket, feeling it make contact with something solid but soft, and you heard a dismayed “oof!” from the mysterious figure. With a rush of movement and the sounds of a scuffle, you were abruptly released, and you turned, shocked, to see a ginger-haired, round-bellied dwarf lying on his back on the ground with Thorin’s heavy boot resting on his chest, outrage written plainly on your lover’s glowering face.

“You dare assault this lady, and before my very eyes?”

You were all too ready to chime in when suddenly something stirred in the recesses of your mind, something familiar about that quivering, bearded face. Leaning closer, you peered intently at him, and your eyes widened in surprise. “Grunur?”

“Aye, miss, it’s me, true enough,” the dwarf answered in a trembling voice.

“What are you doing here? I thought your family had gone to the Iron Hills.”

“That they have, you’ve an excellent memory, miss,” Grunur simpered, “I’ve just come to visit me auntie and uncle in Erebor, haven’t I?” He gestured toward the pair of dwarves buying eggs from the poulterer, his eyes darting back and forth nervously between your face and Thorin’s.

You sighed and extended a hand, helping him up from his place on the cobblestones and turning to Thorin. “Grunur and I were at school together as children,” you explained. “If you’ve spent any time in Erebor, you’ll know who this is,” you addressed Grunur again, indicating Thorin with a nod. Grunur paled, swallowing hard.

“Aye, I do. Terribly sorry to have caused any trouble, sir.” 

Thorin fixed a stony look upon him. “See that you take care to treat ladies with respect from now on.”

Grunur quickly nodded, and you made an attempt to salvage the meeting, saying brightly, “well, it _is_  nice to see you again…all things considered…” you trailed off, pausing awkwardly before repeating, “ _well._ ”

“I think it best you be on your way,” Thorin said pointedly, and Grunur, as though fearful that Thorin might change his mind, immediately scurried away without a backward glance.

You shook your head as you watched him go. “He always was a bit forward,” you mused, and Thorin grunted his disdain, wearing a satisfied look that faded as soon as you turned to him. “As for you…” you said grimly, and took him firmly by the arm to steer him into a narrow alley off of the square. You released him from your grip only when his back was against the wall, your hand settling on your hip in exasperation. “What are you on about, attacking someone like that?”

“I thought _you_ were being attacked!” he said, raising his palms skyward in a gesture of helplessness. “I was protecting you!”

“And nearly frightening a foolish lad to death,” you reminded him. “It wasn’t a goblin ambush, Thorin, I reckon I can handle myself should a ruffian accost me in broad daylight in the marketplace, much less an old acquaintance.”

“Obviously you can,” he said, rubbing his arm ruefully. “Have you always been so strong?”

“I have,” you answered, lifting your chin. “This is the first time you’ve been such a silly, great oaf as to make me show you, and what _are_ you grinning at?”

“I rather like this masterful side of you,” he replied, with a devilish smile. “Perhaps you can show me more, later.”

“You wicked creature,” you scolded, only making him grin more widely, and a begrudging giggle escaped you. With a prim sigh, you stepped forward to press your lips to his cheek, and his arms moved to encircle your waist, drawing your mouth to his to kiss you hotly. “You must promise me,” you murmured, breaking away for a breath, “that you will not make a practice of terrifying silly dwarves on my behalf.”

“I promise,” he nodded, stealing another hungry kiss.

“Though, if I ever do find myself ambushed by goblins,” you said saucily, reaching to smooth his hair away from his face, “do your worst.”

He chuckled. “With pleasure, my lady.”

You stepped back, tidying the contents of your basket and reaching for the scrap of parchment that contained your shopping list. “Well, it seems I have my marketing to finish.”

“And I have promised to meet Dwalin to look at hunting dogs.”

“I wish you luck in your endeavors,” you said, bobbing a playful curtsy, seeing his amused smile as you turned to walk away. You stopped abruptly at the end of the alley, calling to him over your shoulder. “Oh, and Thorin?”

“Hmm?”

“Meet me on the North Terrace after sunset, and you’ll see how masterful I can be.”


End file.
